Fudge the Great
by Debate4life
Summary: What if Fudge wasn't incompetent? What if he truly means well? Change one man, and change the war. Change the war and change the world. Harry Potter wasn't the only one who could've been great, with only slightly different choices.


Fudge the Great

Disclaimer: Consider this a not-for-profit piece in tribute and imitation of the glorious works of the original author of the Harry Potter series, Rowling. I don't own it - someday I'll create a world of my own, but until then, I am content to play in other's sand boxes. Some dialogue in this- you'll be able to spot it- is from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

AN: This story was sparked by an argument in a forum where I argued that Fudge was not necessarily evil, and in many ways, was not incompetent, either. A great wizard politician need not be a great wizard. Many of his faults came from his desire to hear both sides of the issue- after all, Lucius may have been his advisor, but so was Dumbledore at one point too. Many – though not all - of the issues blamed on Fudge actually originate with a lack of communication by Dumbledore. I started to imagine the Harry Potter universe with Fudge as someone who was truly well intentioned, without making him more powerful, magically or politically, than in the books. In some areas, this one shot overlaps the existing story line, but there are also original bits as well. I also compressed the timeline of a few events for dramatic effect- yes, it is intentional. This started as a one shot, but I hit 4500 words without finishing my original outline, so you might see another chapter or two at least.

Cornelius Fudge had not gotten the position he held today through chance. He had started in the Ministry at the very lowest level, an unpromising Hogwarts graduate without exceptional bloodlines, talents, or connections to his name. He was, indeed, very like to Percy Weasley in that early stage of his career, enthusiasm and obedience making him a good minion... but an unpromising leader. He spent a great deal of time being migrated through departments, transferred sideways, but occasionally up as well. At the end of the day, though, he achieved an ambition beyond anyone's expectations... besides his, of course.

"He was a likable enough sort," Terival Derwit, Esquire, remembered to a biographer some years later. "First into the office and last to leave, and not one to neglect his responsibilities either, mind. Why I remember a case he assisted in- a poisoning, one of many alleged to be the work of the infamous, and infamously beautiful, Madam Zabini. As prosecutor, I was not going to win, mind; in the Ministry in that era it just wasn't done, for a pureblood witch to be convicted of a major crime, but there was enough evidence to require it be brought to trial.

Young Fudge was Court's Scribe for the case, which was closed, as was custom to maintain the good name of a pureblood witch. The case came out nearly as expected- the murder and associated charges did not stand up to the panel's scrutiny, but what, surprisingly, did stick was a single minor count of dealing in illegal substances. Now, since a charge did stick, the matter quite properly became part of the public record. It was Fudge's duty to get this done. I walked in on Madam Zabini 'persuading' the man to indefinitely delay registering the offence. I was shocked to see the man, an awkward portly sort just out of his teens with barely a pinstriped suit to his name, turn down the woman half the upper crust was panting after. By the time she left, the woman had forgotten the offense, and was quite taken with some of his ideas. For a man with little charisma or intelligence, he had a way of making circumstances turn out to his advantage, without neglecting duty."

Fudge was something exceptional in a corrupt ministry. He wanted desperately to do the right thing, and, while he knew when to compromise to win bigger battles, he never lost sight of his ideals. People become civil servants for many reasons. To seek justice, to gain power, to find acclaim, for job security... Many say they want to make a difference. Cornelius Fudge was one of the few who meant it.

Cornelius' father had passed away when he was a small child, and his mother was a magical historian, whose pay covered the essentials, plus a bit set aside for his eventual education. Unlike many Wizarding children, he did not have the luxury of private tutors, or even a stay at home parent, as even most poor families managed. His education before he attended Hogwarts was lacking in many areas, and it hurt him in many ways. He learned multiplication and division simultaneously with Arithmancy, and his reading speed and comprehension remained low compared to many of his classmates. Though he was not unintelligent, his Hogwarts grades were almost uniformly poor to mediocre as a result of his early lacks.

The one area of his education that far surpassed his contemporaries was history. It started with stories, of great leaders, generals, warriors, and politicians of the past. King Arthur, Alexander the Great, Churchill, Jan III Sobieski, King Naresuan, Cicero, Gaius Marius, Marcus Attilius Regulus, and many others were the heroes of his childhood. His mother read aloud to him, often from her own research notes. They captured his imagination, and a young Fudge began to plan. The Wizarding World was due a Golden Age of Innovation and Renaissance, and he was convinced he would someday be the one to bring it about.

He gained election as a compromise candidate. He had confidantes in many government circles, on opposing sides of the major issues facing the modern Wizarding World. He felt this was the best way to get the information to form a good opinion. The Wizengamot felt that made him wishy-washy. Lucky for him, that was exactly what they were looking for.

Bagnold had been an exceptional wartime minister, but had gathered a few too many powers to the executive branch for the Wizengamot to be comfortable with her in peacetime. Fudge seemed like a good choice to be a placeholder while the Wizengamot watered down the post to a more peacetime standard. Like Pope John Paul II had been a compromise candidate not expected to live long or do much, Fudge was elected as a temporary placeholder not meant to have much power or make many changes. Like the Pope, Fudge defied those expectations as thoroughly as he defied the expectations of those who hadn't believed he'd make it to high office in the first place.

He pushed for the registration of Werewolves, with an eventual goal of stopping the spread of the disease, and enabling comprehensive treatment. Though their reluctance to be publicly registered handicapped such efforts, it was still a significant step towards quarantining the disease. He pushed for anti-trust and liable laws, improving the business environment. The wizarding world's economy boomed, and the GDMP (Gross Domestic Magical Product) was the best it had been for centuries. He funneled bribes into public works like St Mungos Children's Fund, and the charities did good deeds rather than existed to line his pockets as they had done for his predecessors. He never allowed the money to interfere with his duties, and he never would. He was pleased with how he'd handled his terms, and his reelections showed that the Wizarding public agreed with him.

His first real crisis was the Sirius Black escape. It started early in the early evening, with an Auror, homing in on the emergency beacon worn constantly by all Ministers, landed half in, half out of Cornelius' evening bubble bath.

"What *sputter* what precisely is this meaning of this?" The Minister shoved the man sideways out of his tub, accidentally knocking him unconscious. He was now covered in pink suds, blood, and a rubber ducky, and in a full blown panic mode. He somehow knew today would not be a good day...and here he had been looking forward to his first evening off without paperwork for more than a month...

A quick stop to wipe off the worst of the suds and to pull on his simplest suit, a levitation charm, and a pinch of floo powder found Fudge floundering under the weight of the Auror once again. The levitation charm had failed almost the instant he stepped out of the fireplace. Shoving the man off of him, Fudge looked around to assess the situation.

The main lobby of the Ministry of Magic was utter chaos. People were running this way and that. Whole flocks of owls wheeled overhead, waiting for the cue at the mail redistribution point to clear. The floos were disgorging masses of concerned citizens who added to the confusion.

There were some days where there were disadvantages to being Minister of Magic. While Fudge had the feeling he would be feeling one of the disadvantages sooner than he would like (who really enjoyed being blamed for something that was neither predictable nor preventable?), he took advantage of his position to snag a passing Auror trainee to get filled in on the crisis.

The news had him reeling. Sirius Black, escaped? He remembered being at the crime scene where Peter Pettigrew and more than a dozen muggles were killed and nearly fifty injured when he was still just a Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes. It was one of the more traumatic things he had ever seen, and Fudge was ashamed to admit that Black scared him as a result. Now, however, was not the time for that.

It took more than two hours to organise the Ministry and restore some semblance of order. He had just finished explaining to the Muggle Prime Minister what story needed to go out to the Muggle public and why when news of the second crisis of the evening reached him.

Harry Potter had had some kind of accidental magic and left home. Immediately, Fudge's training from his time as a first responder in Magical Catastrophes kicked in. Accidental magic required a significant emotional component. It was not outside of the realm of possibility that it was a response to being attacked. Fudge's blood ran cold at the thought. If Sirius Black had reached Harry Potter... well, Fudge would wait to compose the eulogy until he knew for sure. A snapped order sent out Aurors and Obliviators to the Dursley home, and an all points bulletin for a missing child went out on the Wizarding Wireless.

A call came in from Ernie on the Night Bus. The false name was laughable. Of course- of course the boy chose a dorm mate's name! While the Minister might not know a Hogwarts student's name normally, he was familiar with the cautionary tale the Longbottoms had become, and knew of their young son. Fudge breathed a sigh of relief. He had done many unpleasant things in his tenure, but writing consolation letters after the death of a thirteen year old would have still been a painful low.

He decided to meet the boy at the Leaky Cauldron. As soon as he stepped out of the floo, he felt a bit uncomfortable. The crowd in the Wizarding pub was not the sort who welcomed the Minister with open arms. After a blow to public confidence like the Black escape? Fudge was lucky they weren't outright booing him. A quick word with Tom, thankfully, got him a private room with a bit of tea to drink as he waited. He shot outside as soon as he heard the unmistakable sound of the Knight Bus' approach.

The waif in front of him was not at all the sort of child Fudge had expected to see in the Savior of the Wizarding World. Having been poor himself, Fudge recognised the poverty of the loose hand me downs, and battered school trunk. A niggling question- why?- started building in his mind, but now was not the time for that.

"There you are Harry!" Fudge knew, on seeing the boy's face, that he had frightened him, and no wonder why! The Minister had arrested someone he later knew to be a personal friend of the young man not six months previously.

It had been necessary at the time- Hagrid having been convicted for a similar crime some time before, it made a great deal of sense to take the oaf into custody, for the safety of the children if guilty, and of himself if innocent. Magical vigilantes were much more common than in the muggle world. That he later seemed to be innocent was regrettable, but Fudge's first priority had been to secure the lives of the students. Half-giants were known to resist Veritiserum, so holding him was the best short term solution to be had. Better safe than sorry after all, and he would have been released sooner rather than later following a trial anyway.

The gape-jawed response from the conductor- did the silly man really believe the boy was Neville Longbottom? - almost made Fudge chuckle, but he suppressed it. It seemed he had already ruined his first impression with the boy. Chuckling would hardly repair his image. After requesting the pot of tea, Fudge led the boy to the back room.

"Sit down, Harry. I am Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic." Fudge paused as Tom popped in with the tea. A sip- ah, Darjeeling...- and he continued. "Well, Harry, you've had us all in a right flap, I don't mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle's house like that! I'd started to think...but you're safe, and that's what matters." Eying the boy's thin frame beneath his oversized clothes, Fudge buttered a crumpet and passed it to Harry, then repeated the gesture for himself.

"Eat, Harry, you look dead on your feet. Now then...you will be pleased to hear that we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing up of Miss Marjorie Dursley. Two members of the Accidental Magical Reversal Department were dispatched to Privet Drive a few hours ago. Miss Dursley has been punctured and her memory has been modified. She has no recollection of the incident at all. So that's that, and no harm done."

Fudge smiled at the gaping expression of the boy. Really, did the child expect they would expel someone into the unforgiving embrace of the Muggle world over something as trivial as a spot of Accidental Magic? There were rules against it for a reason of course, but it was a rare child indeed who failed to receive at least one notice for magic during school. It was always messy to clean up in the Muggle world, though. Noticing that the boy's expression started to get nervous again, Fudge continued.

"Ah, you're worrying about the reaction of your aunt and uncle? Well, I won't deny that they are extremely angry, Harry, but they are prepared to take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays." Fudge frowned slightly at the boy's reaction to this. He seemed disappointed that they would take him back- why? And was that relief he saw, when the boy was told he would not be expected back for the holidays? What kind of home life makes a child want to stay at school for Christmas?

Fudge was still pondering on it when he headed home that evening. It had raised enough question marks that he resolved to look into it further before Harry needed to return to school. Meanwhile, though...a stack of parchment the height of Flitwick awaited his attention. He had to find a tactful way to distribute his finite amount of magical protection to the places most likely to be targets of Black, without offending those not receiving protection. With a resigned sigh, he poured himself a glass of whiskey, and set to it.

It took nearly two weeks, in the commotion of allotting protections, contacting the Muggle Minister again (and that was some conversation- Fudge could see why the decisive man made it to such high office. Fudge was willing to admit, at least in private, that the man intimidated him rather a lot), and managing the press to return to the questions raised by meeting the mysterious young Boy Who Lived.

A quick look in the records immediately made a worrisome fact clear- the Ministry had no record of where young Harry Potter lived. This was clearly a recent development- after all, they had an Underage Magic detector pointed towards his residence for some years. It took calling in the Unspeakables to find his residence, and even then, Fudge was worried where the original record had gone. Did Dumbledore have it? Voldemort? For what purpose? His desire to do a little poking around into Harry Potter's home life intensified.

The boy was in Diagon, and would be safe enough there with the residents having formed an informal neighbourhood watch of sorts for the child. Fudge decided interviewing the boy directly could wait. After all, if this case was truly abuse, Fudge knew, from his training during a short stint on the Safeguarding Magical Children Board, that Harry would be unlikely to admit it if Fudge went in asking undirected questions. Instead, Fudge took advantage of the boy's absence to visit his home, and perhaps get some more information on the neighbourhood.

Fudge finished his morning paperwork. Nodding to his secretary- Dolores Umbridge would never be beautiful as the secretaries of other important ministry officials, but Fudge had always valued loyalty and efficiency over looks- Fudge walked to the Atrium. A quick, dizzying trip through the muggle entrance (a men's toilet! Fudge felt an uncomfortable queasiness in his gut at the thought) brought him to street level. A few taps of the wand later, and Fudge was a very handsome middle aged man in a crisp muggle suit, a kind of cross between Lucius Malfoy and Amos Diggory, on whom Fudge had based his favourite glamour. He had often found people talked more to attractive people, especially rich ones. He wasn't very good at glamours, but in his stint in the Obliviators, he had perfected this one disguise for his muggle work. One advantage was that he still had the faux-muggle law enforcement IDs that went along with this identity. That...might come in use, for this self-assigned mission.

A ministry car, a classic black Bentley with small union jacks flying on the hood, completed his transition to respectable muggledom. The drive to Surrey was long, but with the advantages of magic to assist in avoiding or passing through traffic, Fudge used the time for thinking.

10...8...6..ah! Number 4 Privet Drive, just the place. Fudge blinked a time or two when he saw it. There was just a flicker out of the corner of his eye, a heaviness to the air...he couldn't say for sure, but he suspected this to be the evidence of wards he had wondered if he'd find.

'Well, no doubt it's the right place...time to man up and do what I came to do.' Fudge thought. With a glance or two at the unusually well groomed grounds, Fudge forced himself to march to the front door. He knocked firmly thrice, paused, then knocked twice more for good measure. He was the Minister of Magic, and it was best to establish his importance right away.

The door was opened by a boy that seemed little older than Harry, but pudgier than any boy his age ought to be. Fudge felt a bit sorry for him- Fudge was always fighting chubbiness himself, and moreover suspected the parents' hands in this child's eventual misery as much as in the potential abuse of Mr. Potter.

"Well, what chuh want? If you're selling something, we're not interested!" At the pudgy boy's comments, Fudge felt his sympathy plummet.

Fudge drew himself up. "I, young man, am the Minister of Magic, and I need- "

The door was slammed firmly in his faced. Fudge gaped in incomprehension a it for a moment. Though the door, Fudge heard the boy wail, "Mum! Mum, he said the M word, Mum! Mu-um, come quick!"

This would never do! Fudge palmed his wand, and glanced around, making sure he was unobserved. A quick first year charm, and he was inside, closing the door gently behind him.

Fudge found himself inside the most muggle-ish house he had ever had the misfortune to visit. It was almost painfully clean, smelling like hospital disinfectant. Pictures lined the hallway, of people Fudge didn't recognize, aside from the boy who had opened the door. He didn't see any pictures of Harry in a quick glance, but perhaps he just wasn't looking closely enough…perhaps. Fudge tabled the thought, and moved on the more urgent matters.

A few quick steps brought him to the end of the entry hallway in time to see a beefy man with a cricket bat lumbering from a sitting room on Fudge's right towards him. At the top of the stairs to his front and slightly right stood a thin, bony woman who screamed when she saw him, high and shrill. The boy he had seen earlier was waddling quickly through a hallway to Fudge's front and left towards a dining room and a back door that looked as though it led into a garden as well groomed and lifeless as the house. He had a most unusual posture, Fudge thought. Why was he trying to run while holding his bottom? Most odd.

Well, the situation was clearly getting out of control. A body bind secured the fat walrus of a man who had threatened him. A cheering charm shifted the screams of the woman to wide eyed (thankfully silent) horror, and Fudge breathed a sigh of relief for it. A tripping jinx brought down the fat boy on his well-padded bottom. Fudge winced at the sound- he should have chosen another spell, that one may have broken a finger or two.

A few more spells chivvied the family into the sitting room, where they lined up on a couch together, as far from him as they could get, obviously terrified. Fudge felt bad for a moment, but steeled himself. They had brought it on themselves, after all. He had just wanted to talk, but no.

He distracted himself from their fearful countenances by glancing about the room in curiosity. While he was wizard raised, he had taken muggle studies, and could recognize the uses of many of the appliances in the room. Even a cursory inspection of the pictures on the walls showed his impression in the hall was correct. Harry Potter appeared nowhere. Not in pictures of Christmases, or of birthdays, or water parks, or beaches…nowhere. It was as though the boy had never existed, as though he had certainly never called this frightfully muggle dwelling home. 

Fudge didn't like what that might mean.

"Greetings. I am Minister Fudge, from the Ministry of Magic. I'm here today to conduct an investigation of the living conditions of one Mr. Harry Potter, wizard." Fudge always fell back on the formalities when he felt threatened. The Dursleys' collective jump at the word 'wizard' was very satisfying for him.

"We didn't treat that fr- boy any worse than he deserved. He's an unwanted drain on our finances, a leach off a good family, a NORMAL family. Not that your kind appreciate that. Dumping him here on our doorstep without so much as a by-your-leave? How dare you ASSUME we wanted him! And to come investigate after this long- why, if you cared, you'd have come years ago, and we'd have handed the boy over gladly! WE'RE PERFECTLY NORMAL, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!" Vernon, for Fudge was now quite sure this was the Vernon Dursley he was looking for, was practically spitting with each word by the end of the last sentence. His eyes were bulging out with hate, and only the partial body bind and the desperately restraining hands of his giraffe-like wife held him in place.

Fudge felt ill. Unwanted? Door step? He took a deep, calming breath, and shot a discrete calming charm towards the man. "I think its best you tell me about this in more detail, and perhaps I can ensure your nephew does not return here in future."

It was some hours later that Fudge stumbled back into the ministry office. Loyal Delores was still sitting there, snapping to attention as soon as he entered the room.

"M-Minister! You're in late… not that you're… um… not here late often, but I thought… well, never mind. What can I do for you?" Fudge shot Delores a thoughtful look. If she hadn't been expecting him this evening… was she expecting someone else? His gaze took in her appearance, and noted several things that were a bit unusual... lipstick, her hair just a bit too perfect, her buttons a bit too shiny… telltale signs of a cosmetic glamour, such as she might use on a special occasion. Fudge spared her feelings by not telling her so, but it didn't help her appearance much.

He had no sooner noted that information than the door to HIS office opened behind Delores.

"Delores dear, could you make sure the Ministers see that Kiss on Sight Order I put on his des- Ah, Minister, didn't realize you were in. Perhaps I might have a moment of your time?" Fudge watched Lucius Malfoy strutting out of the door of Fudge's office- HIS OWN OFFICE- as though he owned the place!

Breath in… breath out… and his professional demeanor snapped back into place.

"Ah, Lucius, just the man I wanted to see…"

It had taken Fudge nearly four hours of persuasion to get Lucius to agree to his proposal- and even then, he thought that only the thought of Dumbledore's embarrassment that had cinched the deal. Fudge was not a naïve man – he knew that Lucius Malfoy most certainly did not have either his or Harry Potter's best interests in mind – but he was confident that, as long as the actions worked in the interest of Lucius Malfoy, the man would go along with it.

Now if he could track down Madam Marchbanks, Dowager Lady of the Marchbanks, and Progressive Whip… well, Albus Dumbledore was going to be getting a very unpleasant surprise at the next Wizengamot session, if Fudge had anything to do with it.

Fudge smiled to himself. It was always nice when things worked out so that doing what was right was the same thing as doing what was in his best interest.

In the flurry of negotiating custody arrangements for the Boy-Who-Lived, Lucius Malfoy entirely forgot to mention the Kiss On Sight Order for Sirius Black. Cornelius felt a certain amount of satisfaction from wadding it up and lobbing it into a trash can.


End file.
